


Eddie Writes a List

by officialbillhader



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialbillhader/pseuds/officialbillhader
Summary: Eddie still dies before Richie.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Eddie Writes a List

Eddie still dies before Richie.

There’s no stopping it. Richie tries, again and again, to make Eddie stay. He prays to a god he has never believed in, he prays to the long dead turtle, he beggs to Eddie, to the doctor, to the prescriptions and the pills, but nothing works. 

The issue is Eddie is too old. His body is shutting down. He has to die eventually, and his body decided it would be now. So the doctor sent him home and told him to stay in bed until it happened because there was no point in staying in the hospital if he didn’t need it.

Eddie is terrified of death, especially after he got a glimpse of the other side and became much more religious, but he knows it’s inevitable. He lets his husband cry on his chest even though he’s not quite dead yet and they should be holding proper goodbye conversations, but he takes what he can in stride. 

He pets Richie’s head, remembering the hair of his youth, black and curly, which has long been replaced with thin, white strands. He was balding by the time the Losers met again, but so was Eddie. It kind of hurts to move his hand, his arthritis acting up along with his slowed heart rate, but he wouldn’t stop in order to save the entire world. 

“You’re a crybaby,” Eddie says eventually, his voice barely there. Richie looks up, his glasses lopsided and his nose absolutely running. Eddie finds it disgusting, but doesn’t have the energy to show it. 

“Okay,” Richie says instead of fighting back.

Eddie wishes he would fight back. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cry as much as you. Your face looks like a swollen tomato,” Eddie tries again. He has to stop multiple times to take in breaths of air, but Richie doesn’t stop him.

“Shut up,” Richie mumbles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as if they’re children and don’t keep tissue on their nightstand. 

The retort warms Eddie’s chest and makes him feel a little younger, a little more alive. 

“How are you going to live without me? Who else can insult you like I do?” 

“Write me a list of how I’m awful. That way I never forget,” Richie jokes, but his voice is still disgustingly choked up and he can’t make himself inflect the sarcasm he wants to. 

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says. It’s enough to make Richie back away from Eddie’s chest.

“What?”

“I’ll write a list. But you can’t read it until after I’m gone. Deal?” 

Richie stares at him for a few seconds. He hadn’t expected that response. He takes off his glasses and cleans them of his dried tears, then puts them back on. Eddie stares back, eyes sunken in and skin loose from his bones, but he’s still Eddie, and he’s still gorgeous. 

“Deal?” Eddie repeats.

“Deal,” Richie finally says and Eddie smiles weakly, yet just as bright as he ever could. 

It takes Eddie hours to write the letter. He has to take frequent breaks because of his fingers cramping up and his hand going numb and refusing to cooperate, but he gets it done, folds it up, and sticks it in their bedside drawer. 

Two nights later Eddie passes away in his sleep. Richie watches it happen, watches Eddie’s breath slow down and his eyelids twitch until suddenly he’s not alive anymore and there’s nothing Richie can do but cry and scream and do his absolute best to accept the horrible truth. 

He forgets about the letter until the funeral has gone and past and the house he and Eddie bought thirty years ago feels so utterly empty that it hurts Richie’s ears, even when he trys to play music or watch TV or any other number of countless noisy things.

He’s crying before he unfolds the letter, before he takes it out of the drawer, even. He uses a tissue, this time, to wipe his eyes as dry as possible before he risks smearing the pen ink. Eventually, he calms himself down enough to read it. 

**Dear Richie AKA Trashmouth AKA my husband,**

**I’m dead. But that’s okay. I won’t be away from you forever.**

**Maybe, wherever I am, I’ve forgotten about you again. I know that’s not comforting, but when did I ever pick to comfort you over telling the truth? Sometimes the truth is cruel and seriously bites us in the ass.**

**But I’ll tell you what I think. I don’t think I will ever completely forget you. I think that if I have forgotten you in death, it definitely won’t be for 27 years. I think it will only be for the time it takes you to join me. If that happens to be 27 years, then I’ll be impressed, but mostly annoyed. I don’t want to go another 27 years without you.**

**I was never truly complete without you, Trashmouth. I was cold and always mad and scared and mostly miserable. Especially with Myra. When I envisioned who I would marry, it was never my mother. It was always you, I suppose. It was a version of you that took on different forms while I couldn’t remember you, but it was definitely you.**

**I always needed you so I could be brave. I always needed you so I could be whole. I always needed you so I could be happy. And I really was happy with you. Every fucking day of our marriage I was surprised to wake up next to you and remember who you are and know that I love you more than I have ever loved anybody and know that I somehow got to marry the most important person in my life. Not many people get to know that feeling.**

**Of course, not many people survive from being stabbed by a clown spider, but that seems a little off topic.**

**What I want you to know is I love you. I love you whether I’m alive or dead, whether I remember you or not. I’m always going to love you. There are things in each person’s life that don’t change, and that was one of mine.**

**Another was you’re an asshole.**

**Love,**

**Eddie AKA Eds AKA your husband**

**P.S. I feel like I’m not living up to our deal unless I insult you, so here’s the insult list:**

**1) Your breath stinks.**

**2) Seriously, brush your fucking teeth more.**

**3) Your underwear’s ugly and, honestly, always been huge a fucking turnoff.**

**4) How do you always manage to tie a tie lopsided? Is that supposed to be your hidden talent?**

**5) Your standup was mediocre at best.**

**6) Every time I got into a car with you I felt like I was going to die. Even when I was driving.**

**7) I don’t know how you did it, but you only looked good in a wet T-Shirt once. That’s impressive, if you ask me.**

**8) Your burps were funnier when we were children.**

**9) You are impossibly hairy. You’re like a werewolf, which makes me think you should shave, considering you were terrified of werewolves at one point.**

**10) You told me you loved me too much and, somehow, never once was I sick of it.**

**11) I love you too. Always have, always will.**


End file.
